


Night Moves

by blythechild



Series: This One Is Not Like The Others [4]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Awkwardness, Bathrooms, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, First Time, Hotels, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Misunderstandings, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Pillow Talk, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Friendship, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Separations, Shaving, Showers, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Tentacles, Therapy, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: Mr. Scratch screwed Hotch up but he won't tell anyone why or how much, not even Reid. But during an away case it all comes to a head when Hotch wakes from yet another violent nightmare...This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains adult situations, sex, and discussions of mental trauma. It should not be read by those under the age of 18.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, since this is the FOURTH TENTACLE STORY I'VE WRITTEN, I've broken down and made a series to collect them all. I'm a little shocked actually.... the first story started as a joke when a friend dared me to write tentacles into a crime drama. Now there are _four of them???_ Also, it took me four stories to get around to engaging in the creatively dubious trope of 'tentacle sex'. *eyeroll*
> 
> Go read the others in the series if you haven't already otherwise this one won't make any sense to you.

He wrenches up from the blood and pain with a last, desperate gasp and finds himself in unfamiliar darkness and terrified like a child. For an excruciating second he can’t breathe. He tries but nothing comes of it. And then his chest contracts so suddenly he rasps out loud. When the oxygen hits him he gets dizzy enough that he’s afraid he’ll throw up on himself. Then the shivering kicks in followed by the paralyzing grief, and he finds myself checking for blood on his clothes. His hands come away wet but when he raises them into the thin light from the hotel window he sees they aren’t dark; it’s just sweat and who knows what else. He swings his legs free of the damp tangle of sheets and places his feet on the worn carpet, his spine slouching in defeat and dropping his addled head into his hands as quietly as he can.

He’s breathing too hard now, trying to slow his pounding heart, but when he closes his eyes their mutilated bodies lay at his feet staring up at him with blood-spattered eyes and a unified, bald-faced accusation. He’s sick with this, as surely and frighteningly as if he’d been diagnosed with cancer, but he doesn’t know where to cut in order to excise it. For the first time in what seems like forever he has no idea what to do; he’s panicking at finding himself in this dark place, alone, and with no hope of rescue. And, _Christ_ , he’s so damned tired…

He begins to rock unconsciously to self-soothe, holding himself in a sticky embrace and ignoring how the bedsprings creak at his movements. Against his will a tight whimper slips out causing him to shut his eyes and clamp down on all of this until it physically hurts. Then hands are on his face, running along his shoulders and down his arms.

“Aaron! What… Jesus, you’re soaked through to the skin…”

He flicks his eyes open and sees the outline of Reid on his knees in front of him, his hair in an impressive tangle that matches the sheets of the bed opposite Hotch’s. As Reid’s hands move over him, a few tentacles stretch over his bare shoulder and brush Hotch’s neck uncertainly - worried and frightened. Hotch wishes that he could lean into them, take comfort from their soft explorations like he has in the past, but it makes him feel like a hypocrite.

“Another nightmare? That’s three in five nights, Aaron. This is serious.”

“It’s fine,” he croaks unconvincingly. “They’re just dreams. We all get them.”

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Reid snaps as he roughly tugs Hotch’s wet shirt over his head and then roots through his go bag to find a dry one to replace it. “You were practically catatonic during witness interviews today. How much sleep are you actually getting?”

“Enough.”

Reid sighs angrily and Hotch can’t blame him. He’s been pushing Reid away, even after his promise to commit to ‘them’. That adds a new layer of terror to everything because Hotch finds that he is quietly and irrevocably in love with Reid though he’s never managed to say so. But this is different and he feels as if he has no choice in the matter; Reid would surely leave him if he knew the truth. It doesn’t mean that the decision to isolate himself isn’t tearing Hotch into tiny, bloody chunks though…

Reid is furious in the silent way he has about him when he chooses to block something unpleasant from his life. He’s been civil at work, and politely distant when they are alone like they are now, but god only knows what justifications he’s imagined for Hotch’s coldness. It makes Hotch swallow hard, almost choking as he still wrestles with his breathing, watching miserably as Reid _can’t help_ his consideration towards him in this moment. The tentacles, always more gentle and forgiving than the man, strain to touch Hotch’s pants and then recoil immediately. Reid stiffens and then returns to Hotch’s go bag.

“Take off the pants too. You’re a damn mess.”

Hotch chuckles despite himself at the echo of Susan Reisen’s no-nonsense tone in Reid’s voice. Reid walks back with a pair of boxer briefs in hand and holds them out to Hotch as he cocks his head.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Except that was very ‘Sue’ of you.”

Hotch takes the briefs and then rises on unsteady legs to change. His face flushes as he strips off his sweat-soaked pants but it’s dark enough to disguise both his nakedness and his shame. Reid drops to his knees and just sort of sags at the mention of her name. Hotch gets it: the incident that brought Hotch and Susan together was horrific, but it led to something hopeful and amazing. Hotch had been eager about his future then, believing that he and Reid were on a path to something extraordinary. He felt that it would’ve been the making of them both. But that future was gone now thanks to Mr. Scratch. Hotch pulls up his briefs and stares at Reid sitting on the floor between their two beds and grieves for what might have been. It took them so long to figure it all out, and now… they never did anything more than kiss. But Hotch _loves_ him. He loves him so much it burns.

“Should I even bother trying to ask you to tell me about it?” Reid murmurs.

Hotch’s heart cracks open inside his chest, adding to the blood that’s already on his hands. “You know the answer to that.”

Reid’s silhouette turns to look up at him. Hotch can imagine the hurt etched there. “Why? What did I do to make you shut me out like this?”

His chest seizes and he clutches at his tee shirt as if it’s trying to strangle him. His legs, already shaky, give up and he sinks down hard on the carpet next to Reid with an ungainly huff. He sags in the darkness - sags closer to the comfort he craves - and bows his head.

“I-I can’t… It’s not you, Spence… it’s never been you…” he chokes back, and then he feels the tickle of tentacles brushing his jaw, lifting his face up.

“I told you everything, Aaron. I gave up my deepest secrets to you. It was… dangerous and terrifying, but I did it.” Reid’s tone is gentle, sad, and the tentacles caress Hotch’s face like they are pleading with him. “Are you honestly telling me that whatever you’re holding back is so horrible that it trumps _that_?”

Hotch curls away into himself, shrinking from his cowardice. A moan slips from him and he hates it, cutting it off viciously which makes it all the more obvious. _You’d hate me if you knew, and I’d still love you. It would be that way forever, but I could never stop loving you…_ Then the thought becomes real, said in a voice he hasn’t used since he was a boy, “You’ll leave…”

“I won’t.” Hotch feels Reid shuffle closer. The tentacles curl around the back of his neck. “I’d never leave you…”

“You’d have no choice,” Hotch snaps quietly and feels the tentacles tremble a little before pressing into his neck again.

“Well, right now you’re not giving me a choice and I think I deserve one. And the benefit of the doubt.” Reid says it with the same calm, clarity that demands respect whether he’s discussing a profile or his personal needs. And he’s right: Hotch owes him this and so much more. He swallows down the lump lodged in his throat and tries to plot out the shortest route between the points of his confession. Then he realizes he’s shaking, and it’s not subtle either. His breathing gets rough and hurried again. The tentacles tighten around him trying to hold him still.

“Aaron, calm down…” Reid whispers, a hand flashing to Hotch’s jaw in an attempt to soothe him.

“I…” His voices dies in his chest and all he can manage are odd clicking sounds as his mouth opens and closes without language. Then something in him says _‘what the hell’_ and he surges forward capturing Reid’s lips awkwardly with a clack of teeth and a surprised squeak. Reid’s hand cups Hotch more securely as he melts into the kiss with a relieved moan. The tentacles are going nuts, skimming around in the short hair along the back of Hotch’s neck in a way that almost hypnotizes him. Reid gasps against his mouth and Hotch pushes in, desperate to pour everything into this kiss. It might be the last one he gets.

Hotch breaks it off roughly, pressing his forehead against Reid’s and clamping his eyes shut. He wheezes through his declaration, not giving himself time to reconsider.

“The dreams are about Peter Lewis - what he made me see, what he made me _do_.”

“He didn’t make you do anything, Aaron. You didn’t harm anyone. And I read the case notes… I know what he made you see.”

“No, you don’t!” Hotch gasps and shakes Reid once as if to say _listen to me!_

“Okay,” Reid whispers cautiously. “Then tell me.”

“I… I put the bare minimum in the report. I knew that if I was completely candid I’d be put on administrative leave. Perhaps indefinitely.”

Hotch takes a deep breath and holds it but it does nothing to stop the shaking. He sees himself covered in blood in his mind’s eye, the bodies at his feet. He sees the satisfied smile break out across him… And now he’s shaking so hard that Reid is vibrating too.

“He made me kill all of you. That much was in the report.”

“He didn’t make you _kill_. He made you _imagine_ that you killed,” Reid murmurs urgently, hands clutching Hotch closer.

“What wasn’t in there is that I wanted to do it,” he blurts, words ripping at his mouth as he spits them out. “I wasn’t compelled against my will… it wasn’t for the sake of the greater good… I _wanted_ to kill you. It was my desire. And it… it felt _incredible_ while I was doing it.”

He keeps his eyes firmly shut and feels Reid pull away from him. _See? You have no choice now…_ There’s no way he’s opening his eyes to take in Reid’s horror, so he just turns away from him slipping out of both his hands and the tentacles simultaneously.

“When… when I got to you… your tentacles were different. Like… black wires a-and smoke at the same time. Burrowing into you. _Infecting_ you. They… they d-disgusted me.” Hotch covers his face even though he’s turned away and blind. The shame is intolerable, something venomous and oily-slick, racing through him faster than he can fathom. “I had to c-cut them out before I ended you. I don’t know why it was important, but it was. So I did.”

A sob rips out of him once, loudly and painfully. He hears a soft huff from Reid but can’t make himself look. Hotch isn’t an emotional man - on the outside anyway - and even if he weren’t admitting to something unforgivable, he’d be ashamed of how completely out of control he is now. It’s making him dizzy and blurring his reality into his dreams; he’s lost his footing and wonders if this is what losing your mind feels like. 

“I h-held you down and… and I carved them out one by one. It felt like it took forever. You screamed and screamed… begging to know why, but I just took my time and I felt _fucking great the whole time_ and no matter what I did _you never fought back_ and you just let me get away with it and it was amazing how warm your blood was and I’ve never felt better in my whole life and why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t I stop? I can’t live with these _things_ inside me, creeping through me, tainting my mind, tangling into every thought, I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t escape… it’s just… fuck. Fuckfuck _fuck_ …”

His chest seizes again painfully. There are electric shocks along his arms and his throat scrapes bare as he struggles for breath. He’s hyperventilating. Hands pull on his removing them from his face roughly. Things brush his face and circle along his back nervously.

“Aaron, breathe… c’mon, breathe… Try to do it evenly, try not to gulp…”

“W-when I f-finished you w-wouldn’t stop screaming and I h-hated that so I s-slit your throat and w-walked away. D-didn’t even w-wait to watch you d-die…”

His voice is barely a hiss from the lack of oxygen and he’s feeling lightheaded and nauseated. Motes are dancing at the edges of his eyes even though they are still clamped shut and he feels wetness lining his cheeks - a new shame to add to the rest. But he’s being held unbelievably close - it’s almost hindering his attempts to breathe. And then there are thumbs smearing the wet tracks on his face followed by lips skimming hot and urgent across the same paths.

“Shh, Aaron… that wasn’t you. It wasn’t even what you thought at the time. It’s compounded recollections in a manipulated perception window, and it’s all flattened into one, horrifying memory… but it didn’t even happen that way when you were experiencing it.”

Reid is rocking Hotch and it feels surreal. Hotch struggles against him trying to get free; it doesn’t feel that this moment is genuine either. Maybe it’s just another mutated memory as well.

“G-get off… how can you - you need to get away… I murdered you and I LIKED IT!” His voice is shrill and completely alien to his ears, rising above the soft rumble that’s become his trademark. Despite his efforts, Reid’s grip is tenacious and Hotch can’t get free no matter what he tries.

“No, Aaron, no…” The rocking continues and Hotch realizes that his cheeks are wetter than they were a moment before. Reid presses into that stickiness between them as his breath cools the dampness in ragged puffs. “No… I know you… don’t lock me out of this. Let me help, Aaron, please… I know you, I love you. Please. I love you…”

“Don’t…” he sags into the grip that won’t release him, days of sleeplessness and fight draining what little energy he has left.

“Don’t what?” Reid’s voice sounds wet, and Hotch submits, opening his eyes and seeing the shadows of Reid’s features. Shadows that can’t hide his misery and fear.

“Don’t love me, “ Hotch whispers. “I can’t be trusted anymore. Scratch got in… he knows how to manipulate me, knows where I’m soft… I don’t even remember what I told him. Maybe it was… maybe it was _everything._ ”

“Aaron-”

“How could he _know?_ How did he know about you unless I told him?”

“He didn’t, Aaron. He doesn’t.”

“But what I saw-”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain,” Reid grabs Hotch’s jaw and holds it painfully. He sniffles and wipes at his face but when he speaks his voice is low and even. “What you’re remembering aren’t actually memories - they’re more like hallucinations, and hallucinations are extremely hard to document accurately once the precipitating stimulus has passed.”

A tentacle curls forward and tries to wipe away Hotch’s tears. He finds the empathy beautiful, confusing, and ultimately devastating. 

“The gas cocktail he used would be like ingesting a massive dose of LSD. Except because it was a gas, it hit your system incredibly fast and triggered an escalating cascade of neuroreceptor activity,” Reid murmurs. “Once the trigger happened your brain did the rest on it’s own, like a line of dominoes, and it only stopped when you ran out of tiles to knock over. You were open to suggestion - that’s Lewis’s trademark - but you probably didn’t offer him much back. The medical report stated that EMS found you non-verbal and non-responsive at the scene, and you only spoke to Rossi in the twelve hours after it happened.”

Reid pauses and stares at him in the dark. “You’re not much of a talker to begin with. I doubt Lewis got anything from you at all.”

Hotch blinks, his eyes stinging. “The tentacles…”

“They are part of _your_ memories. Your mind wove them into the hallucination. Or they’ve become a part of your memory of the hallucination after the fact. It’s impossible to rely on your memory of that scenario. You lack a stable frame of reference to distinguish fact from fantasy.”

Boy, did he ever. He isn’t even sure that he’s awake right now. He’s managed to get his breathing under control, but he’s still vibrating with tremors that wash over him in waves. The ache in him is grueling and he knows, dream or not, he’s coming to the edge of his limits. He can’t keep going like this and he suddenly wonders if the way he’s imagining a place beyond this anxiety is actually suicidal ideation. A moment later, he feels a measure of detached calm skim over him like a cool breeze. 

“I… I can’t do this anymore…”

As he says it, part of his shame simply evaporates and that’s when he knows that he’s really in trouble. When you begin not caring… The hands on his jaw wrench him forward and the tentacles manhandle him roughly for the first time.

“You’re _not_ letting go!” Reid hisses, and as Hotch strains to see him in the gloom he imagines a younger, more innocent version of Reid demanding the same thing of his mother. _Oh, Spence, I’m sorry…_

“I can’t tell what’s real,” he whispers, freakishly tranquil.

“I’m real! You are awake, Aaron. I promise you that.” Reid sounds frantic and he probably is because the tentacles are hurting Hotch now. “Please…”

The calm lifts Hotch out of himself a little. There’s a giddy sense of weightlessness, of floating close to the ceiling of the room and waiting to see what happens next. He doesn’t have a sense of investment in it - it’s all just happening to someone who looks like him. His barriers fall away and he feels buoyant from the freedom of responsibility. And all of a sudden some things seem easier…

“I wish I could go back.” He reaches out and strokes Reid’s face lightly, gentle in direct proportion to Reid’s death-grip on him. “Back to the beginning. I’d tell you how I thought my life was fine until you stumbled into it. I’d tell you how long I’ve felt this way - it’s much longer than you know.”

He’s upset that he can’t see Reid’s face. He’s probably dreaming - which is why he can say all of this without hesitation - but it would be nice to imagine how Reid would react to it. He’d love to see _the knowing_ break over Reid’s features as it sinks in.

“I wouldn’t be afraid to tell you I love you. I wouldn’t fear losing someone so amazing again. Because I’d understand that eventually we’re parted from everyone we love, and using my fear of losing Haley against you isn’t reason enough to ignore the happiness you give me. I wish I could go back and say all of that instead of telling you in a dream…”

Reid’s breathing is rough and it’s the only noise in the hotel room for a full minute. His fingers dig into Hotch’s jaw unmercifully. “You aren’t dreaming,” he eventually whispers. “You really just said all of that.”

“I did? That’s strange… It felt too easy. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Reid chokes and Hotch kneads the back of his neck while shushing him as if _he’s_ the one reassuring Reid through a breakdown. “How much sleep have you had this week - really?”

Hotch thinks and it feels sluggish. “Probably twelve hours. In six days.”

Reid sighs angrily in the dark but eases his grip slightly. “That’s severe cognitive impairment, Aaron. It’s a wonder that you haven’t exhibited aphasia or a loss of fine motor function. Why didn’t you _say something_ to me?”

He hears Reid’s hurt but he knows exactly why he’s been silent for so long. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“No, it isn’t,” Reid snaps. “Not from this. Not from you. We’re supposed to help each other. That’s what love is. You stick with someone even when it’s difficult.”

His weightlessness breaks suddenly and he sags back into his body but the disconnected sensation remains. His spine slouches into the bed frame behind him and he stares at Reid’s silhouette. He wants to go back and the grief at being denied that is overwhelming. He’s just so damned tired…

“Sorry,” he whispers wetly. “Tell Spencer I’m sorry and that I loved him so much it felt wrong. Even the things about him that I didn’t love… I sorta did. Tell him, okay? He needs to know and I wasn’t fearless enough to say it.”

Reid’s shadow twitches, like a visual stutter, and then he nods. “I will… I’ll tell him,” he says weakly. Hotch feels better: somehow this dream will tell Reid how important he was. That’s something. He sighs as some tension leaves him and closes his eyes. If it were possible to drift off in a dream he thinks that he might fall asleep right there crouched awkwardly against an anonymous hotel bed.

“Hey… hey…” Hotch hears the snap of fingers and he blinks. “Time to lie down. No sleeping on the floor.”

“I won’t sleep,” Hotch mutters sadly and tries to stand. It takes two attempts and in the end he’s held up by tentacles.

“We’ll see.”

Hotch trips towards his bed and then the tentacles tighten and push him away from it.

“No,” Reid murmurs and veers him to his own bed instead. “The sheets are damp. You’ll have to share mine.”

Hotch knows he should object but he can’t remember why. He lets the grip on him steer him to Reid’s bed and then he just stares at it listlessly.

“Get in,” Reid nudges, and Hotch decides it takes less energy to follow orders than to think about them. He flops face-first into the thin pillows and then grunts as he worms his way to the far side of the bed. The mattress sags as Reid climbs in and scoots up behind him. Arms wrap Hotch up, pulling him close, and it elicits another moan, this time for the sense of familiarity. All of those nights Hotch held Reid close as he recovered from being shot… Hotch was never sure who was soothing whom back then. Now the sensation is something warm and certain, so he sinks down into it holding it like a talisman against the nightmares lingering on the periphery. He mumbles incoherently trying to thank Reid for the reprieve and, again, for his consideration. Reid clutches him tightly and a few tentacles begin to stroke light paths through Hotch’s hair.

“Don’t talk. Go to sleep,” Reid says, his voice soft and close like he’s saying goodbye to someone. Hotch supposes that’s not far from the truth.

“Can’t sleep. Or maybe I already am. Don’t wanna see it again…”

“Maybe you won’t this time.” Reid breathes into the back of his neck just before he brushes it with his lips. “But if you do, I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re not alone, Aaron. I’m not leaving.”

Hotch thinks Reid _should_ leave but he’s too weak, too in love, too exhausted to let him go. Just one more night, a few more hours… just until he can regain a sliver of his sanity once again…

And the darkness closes in.

\----

He wakes with a stuttered rasp but nothing else. Going still for a moment he considers that and waits to see if it’ll change on him. It’s still dark but the light has changed somehow. He’s leaning heavily against a warm weight in front of him - a body. _Reid_ , he thinks with relief when he feels the gentle rise and fall of his breathing under his arm. 

Hotch sighs quietly, fluttering an errant curl from Reid’s hair that has spread out while he slept, sort of like his tentacles. The sigh activates some who lazily wiggle where they are pressed between Hotch’s chest and Reid’s back. Reid always sleeps shirtless when he can, to let them breathe, to give them room. It’s part of why he prefers to room with Hotch on away cases, otherwise he has to work at hiding them all the time. Hotch wonders if Reid still prefers rooming with him for _other reasons_ even though they are mostly estranged these days. After all, he’s in Reid’s bed wrapped around him, and he has no memory of how he got there.

He thinks maybe he should move back to his bed. It doesn’t seem right that he’s there even though every exhausted fiber in him hurts a little less huddled against this warmth. He can’t remember if he dreamed but he feels it lurking within him, never far from the surface. But there isn’t that adrenaline rush cooling in his veins like there usually is after the nightmare. There isn’t the sickly high from the violence and the terror slinking through him like a filthy arousal. Maybe all he actually did this time was sleep…

He sighs again and a tentacle uncurls and bumps him gently on the nose. Some of the others are sleepily trying to burrow into him like needy puppies. Hotch is always charmed by how open they are; they express themselves so fully and without complication. By comparison Reid can be private, wary. He drops his face a little and kisses the one that bumped his nose. It vibrates in what Hotch chooses to believe is appreciation, and then another offers itself for the same treatment. He kisses it and skims the length of it with a long breath, which produces a much larger shiver. Reid shifts in his sleep, making a soft noise, and then goes still.

“Shhhh,” Hotch whispers to them. “You’ll wake him up.”

But they don’t seem to care as they begin to ripple along the length of his torso in a contented, soft wave. A few take the initiative and extend to curl around him and hold him close - a few at his waist and a few around his shoulders. It’s a little claustrophobic except that he’s become accustomed to how grabby they are, and the knowledge that they’d never hurt him. It’s what makes his nightmares all the more frightening: he mutilates them even though they are the gentlest things he’s ever experienced, part of the most empathetic man he knows. They and Reid are precious and unique, and he doesn’t understand his joy in destroying that.

A few tentacles have crept under his shirt while he’s lost in his head and are now skimming against his skin in strange, spellbinding patterns, sending heat and energy to parts of him that he’s become practiced at ignoring. He goes completely still for a minute and just enjoys the animal pleasure of it; they’re like Reid’s fingers but smoother and more fluid. They have the texture of his skin, but the skin that isn’t sunburned or wind-whipped. It’s the skin under his clothes - softer, surprising, and secret. A tentacle stretches and curls around a nipple, and then suddenly tweaks it before retreating in doubt. It sends an electric arc straight to Hotch’s groin and snaps him out of his stupor. He gasps and absolutely knows he should be in his own bed right now.

“Hey, now…” It comes out in a hungry gust. He’s wanted Reid long enough that it feels as if the ache will stretch out forever, but he can’t do this now. Not when they are about to end. It’ll just make his leaving harder to bear.

As if sensing his retreat, a tentacle rises and strokes his face, and then another, and another. He tries to pull back but the grip around his shoulders and waist tightens. All he has to do is tell them to stop and they will - he knows it. But instead he sags into their clutches, breathing out heavily against the ones smoothing the wrinkles from his face. It’s wrong that he should crave _this one thing_ so much.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he murmurs into one as it passes over his lips and then, as if challenged, it wiggles its tip at his mouth. His lips part and the tip explores hesitantly as another electric wave ripples through Hotch. He slips his tongue out and circles the tip of the tentacle, just to see what it’ll do. The tentacle curls, mimicking Hotch’s gesture, and then Reid shifts in his sleep pushing the tentacle into Hotch’s mouth with the movement. Hotch’s eyes shut as he shoves his sense of propriety aside and pulls on it gently. It wiggles curiously on his tongue. He holds it for a moment and then lets it retreat with a pop and a sigh of loss.

_If you knew how much I’ve grown to need you. If you knew how it changed after you told me about yourself – how it became… **deeper** somehow. If I’d only been able to say the words…_

His pulse is thick and heavy in his ears and he’s starting to feel too hot even though he’s not wearing much. He holds his breath for a moment, and it seems as if the tentacles do that too when they all ease their ministrations simultaneously. Hotch’s hands move on their own, landing lightly on Reid’s hips at the boundary where his skin gives way to the waistband of his pajama pants. The grip anchors him, reminding him that there is an actual man involved here - one who stands a good chance of being hurt and deserves more consideration. And it also allows him to keep his distance so that Reid won’t accidentally roll back and realize how desperately Hotch wants this situation to be different. 

The tentacle pushes back into Hotch’s mouth with authority, and an instant later the others renew their twisting, curling, stroking as if it’s their only purpose in life. The effect flips a switch inside him, turning some sort of consciousness _off_ even as his mind tells him _‘go… get out of here’_. He sucks hard, groaning around the soft appendage as he buries his head against the back of Reid’s neck. He feels encased: tentacles cupping his face, stroking his hair, rubbing along his back, tickling his chest, skimming the edges of his briefs, tugging at his waist… He loses himself in all of it, sinking under gratefully as his troublesome brain effectively leaves the building. Rolling the tentacle over his tongue, he feels it extend until it brushes the back of his throat and makes him gag. It retreats quickly, leaving a wet path as it skims across his lips, over his chin, and down his throat. He hums at the loss but instead of capturing another, he dips his face into Reid’s hair and burrows, finding his neck and shuffling to the side of it so that he can plant a wet kiss along it. He whimpers as he does it and then Reid gasps and shifts. And just like that his brain comes back online and he recoils realizing that he’s molesting an unconscious person.

“Fuck…” he pants and tries to separate himself but the tentacles hold him fast.

“Aaron?”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Spencer… I shouldn’t… Let me go. Just let me go, and I’ll return to my bed…”

The tentacles release him, but just long enough for Reid to turn in the bed so he can face Hotch. Then they’re back with such force that Hotch thinks it’s a good thing that they’re relatively benign. The ones around his waist squeeze unbelievably, layering over one another so that it’s impossible for him to slip out of their grip. Before Hotch has a chance to comment, Reid’s hands are on his face digging into his jaw and pulling him in for a hungry kiss. Hotch gasps and Reid doesn’t waste any time, slipping in and showing up his tentacles by proving how skilled his tongue is. His mouth shifts and moves greedily, his stubble scraping Hotch that will leave him sensitive and stinging in the morning. Reid arches his back and it presses his chest soundly into Hotch’s. His skin is on fire - Hotch can feel it even through his shirt, and it makes him cry out like he’s been suddenly, unexpectedly wounded. Reid rips his mouth away and breathes hard, his arms are heavy and immovable around Hotch’s neck. The tentacles throb and pull them close enough that it almost hurts.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Reid whispers.

“Spence-”

“I’ve been hard since you warned them not to wake me.”

Hotch opens his mouth to say something - anything - to that but nothing happens and Reid takes advantage sinking into him again. As if to prove his point, he grinds his hips against Hotch and Hotch’s mind short-circuits.

“Christ…” Hotch mumbles into Reid’s mouth, and then dives in mindlessly, his hands rising up and groping Reid’s long tangles. He wants this tiny sliver of amazing - he’s helpless for wanting it. He thinks that maybe he can wrap it up, make a time capsule of it and live in it forever, but… “Spencer, we can’t. There are things I have to tell you. You need to know them before you decide to do this-”

“I’m not afraid of you, Aaron,” Reid interrupts quietly but firmly. Hotch can feel his chest rising and falling dramatically against his. “You wouldn’t hurt me. And if you ever did, I’d know that wasn’t you. I’d never blame you for it. At least your hallucination got that right: I’d ask why and how because the man I know would sooner end himself than end anyone he cares for.”

Hotch’s chest gets unbearably tight and it has nothing to do with the fearsome grip he’s in. His next words come out stripped and raw. “I told you about the nightmares…”

Reid nods and then nuzzles into Hotch’s cheek breathing him in as his frame shivers once under Hotch’s hands. “I agreed to this - to us - because… I’m in it… I’m in it deep. I’m here to win or lose with you.” His lips brush up until they land just below Hotch’s ear, and then he leaves the softest kiss imaginable. “Aaron, come back to me. I’ll keep you safe from harm. It’s my turn now…”

Hotch feels as if everything inside him has suddenly become too big for his body to contain. It’s all pulsing at his edges, lighting him up, and spreading him too thin so that his exhaustion floats up easily and becomes the most obvious thing about him. He buries his face in Reid’s hair and breathes hard for a while trying to control it, hugging Reid close enough so that nothing can exist between them but this terrible, ferocious love.

“Love you,” he croaks and then clears his throat in an attempt to banish the wet mess that’s building in his chest. “Do you know about that too?” Reid squeezes back, the tentacles roving, clutching, never resting… Hotch breathes in hard at this quiet realization, like it’s his last gulp of air and he’s making the most of it. He shuts his eyes and tries to curl into Reid, to make himself smaller so that maybe he could hide in the hollow of his thin chest or be camouflaged by the press of the ropey arms around him. To lean out of the turbulence of his life and into this man feels like all he’s ever wanted.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hotch pulls back enough to see Reid’s face, a few errant tangles sticking to the side awkwardly. He tries to smooth them away. “I think I’m having a crisis of joy right now.”

Reid laughs gently, bumping their noses together. “Sounds violent. And confusing.”

“Oh, it is. My sleep deprivation may be compounding the effects.” 

He dips in and licks Reid’s lip. Just the crest of it. And then he moves on to the sharp line at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly the energy that’s left him for dead against the demons in his head is back and firing off desperate messages to his weary body. He wants to move and taste and clutch and suck, and he doesn’t give a damn if it leaves him wasted and shattered afterwards. 

“You should sleep some more,” Reid breathes unsteadily. “You’ve only had… four hours tonight.”

“Want you.” Hotch follows the crease of Reid’s mouth and then slips lower, skimming his chin with his teeth and then quickly nipping the tender skin under it when Reid stretches up with a moan.

“Sleep first… c’mon, Aaron, we’re talking about preserving your sanity here…”

“ _Want you_ ,” he reiterates and then flashes his hands back to Reid’s waistband and hooks his fingers below the material and presses meaningfully. “We’ve put it off for so long, for so many reasons. No more excuses. I’ve wanted this for years, Spence… _years._ And now - after almost destroying everything - I need to have it. Please.”

Reid makes a choking sound that Hotch doesn’t understand, and as he pulls back to get a look at him, Reid takes advantage and quickly wriggles out of his loose pants pushing them down his legs and to the bottom of the bed with his feet. Then he presses himself urgently against Hotch from knees to chest, breathing in surprised puffs across Hotch’s neck. He feels the length of Reid pushing hard into the crook of his thigh, and Hotch abruptly finds himself overwhelmed and overdressed. 

“I… umm,” he struggles a little. “I’m a bit tangled… Can you let me go?”

“No,” Reid huffs, but his tentacles ease off and then Hotch feels plenty of them grabbing at his clothes and pulling in a way that will eventually lead to him being naked. “But I can help.”

The briefs are easy enough. The shirt is more of a trial but the tentacles are persistent. When they come back together - skin against skin and nothing else - they both groan in relief. Reid is all bones and acute angles that relentlessly demand Hotch’s attention as he clasps and grinds. His hands are everywhere, like Hotch said some safeword that set him free, and the wave of fire this sets off in him is intensified by Reid’s mouth carving hot, wet paths across his chest, along his arms, and circling his neck.

“All that time you slept at my place, next to me…” Reid pours into his mouth as his nails score the back of Hotch’s head. Between their chests the tentacles are teasing and pinching, heading lower slowly. “I thought it would happen then. But it didn’t. I thought… maybe you didn’t want that kind of intimacy.”

Hotch is stunned enough to stop kissing. He spent most of Reid’s recovery in a frustrating state of suspended arousal. He remembers the night Reid coaxed him out to dance in the rain. He remembers watching Reid’s frantic Muppet-flailing and wanting to drag him back to the apartment, peel him out of his soaked clothes, and drop to his knees in front of him…

“You were healing,” he mumbles. “It wouldn’t have been… right.”

“Right?”

“Appropriate.”

“ _Appropriate?_ ”

Hotch sighs. Reid has his pedantic moments. “I wanted to be… however _I wanted to be_ with you. I didn’t want to worry about… re-injuring anything.”

“Oh,” Reid says and his voice manages to crack over the lone syllable. Against Hotch’s thigh, Reid’s cock twitches noticeably. “Uh, in that case… w-what do you want to try?”

Hotch’s mouth goes bone dry and his cock throbs simultaneously. He decides to put that to good use and presses it against Reid to let him know they’re in the same place. “I don’t know. This is all new for me too.” 

“Okay,” Reid sounds nervous for the first time, and Hotch cups his jaw and kisses him.

“I don’t care what we do,” he whispers when they part. “So long as we stay as close as we can. Whatever happens, happens. You arouse me so much that you could probably get me off by reading the dictionary aloud.”

Hotch feels Reid smirk under his fingers. “We could test that hypothesis.”

“Maybe later,” Hotch says dryly, and then steals Reid’s comeback with his lips.

They begin again but move against each other slowly this time. Hot, open-mouthed pulls forming a wordless litany of want as Hotch’s arms wrap Reid up, and the tentacles wrap him back. They already understand how to do this; Hotch knows that Reid prefers it to be luxurious to start with, as if they have all night to focus on kissing alone. When he’s ready to change it up, Reid always initiates, using his teeth and nails, and Hotch waits for that signal with banked caution because he doesn’t know what comes after it. The tentacles are a new sensation though - they were always hesitant when Hotch and Reid made out previously. Now they are active and urgent, stroking every inch they can reach, and the combined feel of them along with Reid pressed naked and hard against him is making Hotch overload. 

He pulls away from Reid’s mouth with a gasp and then a tentacle is right _there_ pressing into his lips. He sucks it in without thinking and loses himself in its smoothness - softer than Reid’s face but different from his lips. It wiggles and seems to grow fuller in his mouth, and he pulls it in as deeply as he can without gagging. Suddenly, the other tentacles become more forceful against him. Reid drags himself along Hotch’s length with a whimper leaving a wet smear along his hip as he goes. Hotch opens his eyes and eases up a little, concerned. Reid’s expression is piercing, his mouth hanging open helplessly as if he can’t hold himself in check _and_ marshal muscle control at the same time. Hotch backs off and releases the tentacle, though both it and Reid appear distressed by that choice.

“Please,” Reid wheezes as his eyes slip shut. “You have no idea how good that feels. Aaron, please…”

Hotch dips again collecting a different tentacle and sucking it in deep with his eyes locked on Reid’s face the whole time. He bears down on his instinct to gag as he takes as much of it as he can, his tongue pressing it to the roof of his mouth for a measure of control against its reckless pulsing. Reid’s eyes flick open as he lets out a strangled cry that sends a searing shock to Hotch’s dick. He watches as Reid’s eyes roll, as he mouth forms a desperate O and he arches directly into Hotch’s body. The reaction is stunning - so honestly and unabashedly wanton - and Hotch is thankful for this accidental discovery. His arms cross against Reid’s back as he pulls him in too tightly, his fingers grabbing tentacles that twist back on him until his digits begin to tingle. Then the ones looped around his waist release him and push between their crushed torsos. Hotch feels something soft wrap around his cock and then squeeze unbelievably. His whole body goes rigid at the lack of warning.

“Shit!” he chokes as he spits the tentacle out and tries to shift in the unrelenting grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” Reid gasps and then struggles too. “I don’t have a lot of control right now… hold on…”

Hotch swears that he hears Reid actually hiss ‘stop that’ to his appendages and he can’t help the delirious chuckle that ripples out of him as a result.

“What?”

“This is really weird,” Hotch murmurs.

“Too weird?” Reid whispers uncertainly.

Hotch shakes his head ‘no’ and then drifts a hand down between them to find Reid’s cock and skim its edges with his fingers. Reid hitches in his arms and stares, waiting. Hotch holds his gaze and shifts until his own cock thumps against his hand, then he aligns them, watches as Reid’s eyes glaze a little when Hotch rubs them together experimentally. Then he drifts again until his fingers land on a tentacle hovering close at their waists. It curls around one finger, almost in apology, and then Hotch gently directs it between their bodies as Reid’s eyes widen.

“Do they know how to do this?” Hotch murmurs, and Reid nods his head slowly. Hotch nudges the soft, curling pressure until he feels it abandon him and then wraps he and Reid together securely. They both hiss at once and adjust, then a moment later the embrace tightens as another joins the first. 

Hotch looks down and is a little taken aback by the sight of them. Their bodies make a sharp V against the shadows in the bed, looking as if they’ve become one where their hips meet and are rolling lazily together. The light catches wet trails across the scars on Hotch’s stomach and on the corner of Reid’s hipbone. Their cocks are just a mass of pulsating tentacle, circling and swelling as they pump so that he can really only see their heads twined together and glistening as they move in and out of the dim light. It should be frightening - something out of a cheap horror film - but Hotch is so astonishingly stirred by it that he has to look away, biting his lip hard to prevent from ending right then and there. Reid makes a strange choking sound and Hotch looks to find him mesmerized as well, breathing like he’s only just learned how and pupils blown in unrelenting lust. _This is so weird._ Another tentacle outlines Hotch’s inner thigh and then slips between wrapping around one of his balls. Then another becomes curious about his ass. He groans loudly pressing his forehead against Reid’s. 

“Tell them to be gentle,” he huffs. “I’m too tired to last long… my reserves are gone…”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Reid grits between clenched teeth. Hotch suspects that he won’t last long either. “They have their own agenda…”

“Agenda?”

“They want to make you feel good.”

“And that isn’t _your_ agenda?”

The tentacles around their cocks begin to ripple in addition to squeezing and both Hotch and Reid moan, trying to nuzzle closer and into that grip simultaneously.

“It is,” Reid gulps and then kisses Hotch urgently. “They feel what I feel… but it’s _different_ for them. It’s like… purpose rather than desire. They simply feel; their love is uncomplicated.”

“They love me?” Hotch breathes into Reid’s skin, his hands digging too hard into the back of his neck to anchor him.

“Of course they do. Every touch they give you is an expression of that.”

The tentacles across their bodies begin moving in unison with the ones wrapped around their cocks. Hotch strains in their grip, stretching as if trying to give them as much surface area to manhandle as he can. Reid’s long fingers sink into his hair as his breath comes humid and fast along the base of Hotch’s throat. He licks there, and then he sinks his teeth in slowly, stretching the bite out into something obscenely languid. Hotch is certain that Reid has no idea how tantalizing he can be. It’s not even remotely practiced - he just does what he feels in the moment, much like his tentacles. Reid’s pelvis starts moving in time to the rhythm, and then Hotch joins him, slightly off the beat so that they get an extra skip of friction. Tentacles land on Hotch’s hips and encourage the movement, try to exaggerate it.

“They’ve been… so anxious… these last few months,” Reid whimpers into Hotch’s throat. “They didn’t know… how to react. They have no experience with letting go of someone they love…”

“Spence…” Hotch whispers, feeling sad and aroused and really confused by that mix.

“I understand nuance, Aaron. They don’t. They’ve loved four people - the people that know of their existence: me, Mom, Sue, and you. And you are the first one that isn’t familial.” Reid suddenly twists his hips and swears at the new angle. Hotch feels wetness trickling over them and then the tentacles smear it into their grip. Hotch’s balls tighten and then he swears too - his mind caught between his need to come and this curiosity that’s burst to life at exactly the wrong moment.

“You mean… you’ve never… Christ, Spence, is this your-” Hotch is instantly terrified.

“No,” Reid gusts against him and then punctuates it with a deep kiss. “I’ve had lovers. I just… never revealed myself to them.”

“How…”

Reid shrugs and then nips at Hotch’s jaw. “I always wore a shirt. Told people I had scars I was ashamed of.”

“That must’ve been…”

“Difficult to negotiate. Yes.” Reid breathes hard and his grip around Hotch tightens. “There haven’t been many.”

Hotch’s whole being throbs like some sort of seismic event that should make the room shake. He must be completely exhausted, or out of his mind, because Reid has just turned him on so dramatically that it seems wrong or disproportionate or just an unholy fucking mess. He spasms a little in Reid’s grip, trying to get a handle on how it _feels_ that Reid would let him have this, let him all the way in…

“God… now I want to make you come so hard that it fries your brain a little,” he blurts, and then feels the immediate blush of embarrassment heating his face. He doesn’t remember when he became this guy. Reid is making him crazy.

“If you want to do that,” Reid pants, meeting his eyes with an odd, hungry desperation. “Just… watch me. Watch _us_. Together. That’s… that’s everything to me.”

Hotch blinks a little because the request seems too simple. Then he shuffles so he can stare down their torsos again. The bed sheet is rucked up and pooled just below their waists now. He watches it crinkle where their legs tangle beneath it as they strain to move together. The tentacles throb over them, around them, incredibly doubled in size as Hotch remembers a long lecture Reid gave him about their skin elasticity. They’re beyond wet now, too eager and too close, with all of that leaking over and dripping down between them to make them sticky and noisy. And there’s a small pool of it gathering at one side of his stomach, trickling into the shadows of the mattress when they list too far to one side. Hotch closes his eyes again, feeling his need crest unstoppably, and then groans like a rusted hinge. He rolls them both so that he’s on his back with Reid crushing into him.

“What-” Reid gusts.

“Hold me… as close as you can,” he gulps and feels dozens of tentacles bite into him almost immediately. “ _FuckIwantyoutobealloverme_ -”

And then he yells, arching up and feeling himself spurting between them. Reid clamps down hard against him, the tentacles constricting just as he asked, and a moment later Reid is moving across him more easily, slipping and grunting at the unexpected turn things have taken. Hotch feels the tentacles pump him until he’s weak; their hold gets sloppy as Hotch twists to his own pleasure. He knows Reid is still insistently hard against his stomach.

“Dammit,” he mutters hoarsely when he comes back down. “That was quick… sorry.”

“You’re exhausted,” Reid wheezes, still pumping against Hotch but trying not to be obvious about it. Hotch opens his eyes and looks up into his shadowed face. His hair is swinging as he moves, the light in the room catches the muscles in his arms as he props himself up, and the flash of his teeth as he bites his lip. “Surprised you lasted as long as you did…”

Hotch reaches up and cups Reid’s jaw, feeling limp and a little useless everywhere, but also perilously happy. “You feel so good…” he whispers. “What do you need, Spence? Tell me.”

“Say… this isn’t ‘goodbye’,” he gasps and Hotch’s heart constricts.

“It’s not-”

“Say that you’ll let me in… let me take care of you…”

“Spence…” His heartbeat is speeding up again and he tries to sit up and pull Reid closer. But a hand pushes him back and tentacles hold him down.

“Even when it’s hard, Aaron. Promise me.” Reid groans and rolls his eyes shut, a wrinkle of concentration forming between his eyebrows. “Jesus… you know I won’t give up even if you don’t promise… _youknowthatright?_

Reid whines painfully as if trapped, and then Hotch’s free hand slides down into the mess between them as his mind clears and he’s suddenly certain of himself again. Reid’s eyes flick open and lock on his as Hotch’s fingers wrap around the slick tentacles between their stomachs.

“Yes, I know,” he says quietly, his hand moving too now. “You’re undeniable. I’m not deluded enough to think you’d do otherwise.”

“So?” Reid strains forward so he’s looming over Hotch’s face, his whole body hitching and fighting the inevitable. Stubborn bastard…

“Come for me, please,” Hotch pleads, surprisingly heated and anxious. “I need to see it…”

“Promise…”

Hotch makes a strangled moan as his hand slips and a hot burst lines his palm. Reid keens and then Hotch thinks that this moment is perfect. It _has_ to be like this…

“I’ll love you until the end of me. If you’re too obstinate to cut loose of that, I’ll promise you whatever you want.” He hurries as Reid curls his spine beyond belief and then _lets go._ “Anything. Everything…”

Reid grounds out one, long curse and then Hotch flicks his gaze to their bellies and watches as he pumps hard and finally sprays along Hotch’s chest. The tentacles in Hotch’s hair yank too hard and the ones wrapped around his back squeeze until it’s difficult to catch his breath. Reid hitches through a couple of half-hearted thrusts and then hovers in an instant of silent, impossible suspension before he collapses into Hotch’s body with a grunt and a little squelch. The tentacles go limp and he begins to tremble, like some sort of exhausted jellyfish. Hotch laughs quietly at that thought, and ends up running his fingers through Reid’s hair.

“This is so weird…”

“Doo ‘eird?” Reid asks again, this time muffled against Hotch’s ribs. A tentacle shyly joins Hotch’s hand in Reid’s tangles. Hotch curls his fingers around it gratefully.

“Beautifully weird,” he mumbles, and the tentacle squeezes.

They don’t move for a long time. Their breathing settles and the only sounds are rain ticking against the hotel windows and the occasional crease of the sheets. Eventually, Reid grunts, lifts himself with great effort, and leans up Hotch’s body in the darkness.

“I love you,” he whispers roughly before he sinks into Hotch’s mouth. The kiss is deep, but has a definite end when Reid breaks away and then stumbles from the bed. A tremor runs through Hotch before he can collect himself.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry,” Reid mumbles without looking back, and then he waves a finger at him. “You stay.”

Hotch flops back into the mattress, feeling that he’s missed something, and then he hears the shower start in the bathroom. Fatigue pulls him down as if brutally flicked on, and he hangs in it telling himself that he’ll just close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment…

 

He wakes sharply as coolness skims over him, his hands raised to defend himself. Reid is sitting on the edge of the bed, running a wet cloth over Hotch’s midsection seemingly unconcerned by his body language. He’s naked, his hair is wet, and his tentacles are retracted.

“Are you… _cleaning_ me?”

Reid shushes him and continues, his hands gentle and warm after the wetness of the rag. He takes his time, washing Hotch’s chest, his hands, his thighs, his hips and his cock, and then he trades the rag for a towel and meticulously dries him. Hotch watches in silence.

“Is this part of taking care of me?” he asks eventually. Reid nods once and then tosses the towel and rag onto the opposite bed. He peels back the sheet and nudges Hotch to move over, then he slips in beside him pressing every inch of himself against him. It feels like an oath, like waves lapping a shoreline or a deadbolt on a door. Hotch sighs and closes his eyes, drifting towards his exhaustion again.

“I can clean myself, you know…”

Reid wraps around Hotch. “Go to sleep.”

God, that sounds wonderful, but surely there isn’t much night left.

“What time is it?”

“Time enough to get a few more hours,” Reid whispers into Hotch’s neck. “Try, at any rate.”

Hotch nods, perception already blurring on him. “Okay,” he mutters. He’d try. Caretaker’s orders.

\----

When Hotch opens his eyes again, wan November sunlight is streaming through the hotel windows and Reid is already up, fully dressed, and scribbling on a legal pad at the table in the room. Hotch makes a distressed rumble, having no idea what time it is, and being a little unsure of his location as well. Reid looks up, blinks, and then goes back to his manic note-taking.

“Oh good, you’re up. I was going to give you ten more minutes and then drag you out of bed by your heels.”

“What time is it? How late are we?” he growls as he as he gets up, tangles in the sheets around his legs, and nearly faceplants on the carpet. Reid is there before he can think about it, a hand pressed to his chest that lets him regain his balance.

“Hey, steady there… it’s not even seven yet. There’s time, Aaron.”

Hotch feels his face heat and his skin prickle at the touch and the sudden coolness of the room. Reid just holds his hand firmly against him and waits. Hotch clears his throat and looks around without really seeing anything. He’s dizzy - he got up too quickly.

“How long did I sleep?” he mumbles.

“Altogether, probably six hours.” Reid’s palm presses into his chest once and then drops, giving him his autonomy back.

“That’s… more than I usually get.

Reid’s mouth quirks up at the corner as he turns away. “It’s a start.”

Hotch can’t believe it. He doesn’t remember dreaming at all - just a dead sleep that seems too miraculous to be real. He stumbles into the bathroom, wondering if it was a one-time fluke or a small wedge of hope. Turning on the shower, he throws himself under the hot spray before it hits him that he walked right past Reid - didn’t kiss him, acknowledge what happened, or even say good morning. He knocks his head softly against the shower tiles and curses. He’s going to be terrible at this if he can’t get his brain to participate more regularly.

“You can’t screw this up,” he says as the soap runs down his face and leaves a tangy aftertaste in his mouth.

He’s halfway through shaving minutes later when he stops and glares down his foamy reflection, waving his razor at himself threateningly. “You’re going to have to work at it.”

“Work at what?”

Hotch startles for the second time and sees Reid looking at him curiously from the bathroom doorway. He’s all put together and, well… Reid-like, and Hotch is flustered and dressed only in a towel. At some point, Reid has become the capable one - calm in his belief about them, steady in his love. Hotch envies him and wonders when this shift took place. A part of him whispers, _last night - midnight made him when it broke you._ Hotch stutters, feeling suddenly flushed, but Reid ignores it and walks up behind him placing a kiss along his still-damp neck. Hotch shivers noticeably and forgets what he’s trying to say. Reid turns him sideways with hands on his shoulders and smiles as if this casualness is something they do all the time.

“Shaving? I think you’ve got that, Aaron.” Reid leans in and kisses with a soft, teasing pull of his lips. Hotch hears the click of his razor as he sets it on the counter so that he can focus entirely on what Reid is doing. He pulls back and there’s shaving foam on his lower lip. Hotch points to it and Reid’s tongue flicks out to wipe it clean, and then he makes a face at the taste. He shakes it off while Hotch smiles, and then he’s leaning in again, blinking at Hotch’s face.

“Oops, can’t have that.” Reid wipes a finger in the foam that still remains and smears it over a spot just under Hotch lip. “Don’t forget that part. If you walk into the PD with any kind of facial hair the team will start maliciously profiling you as a hipster.”

Hotch’s heart is booming behind his ribs and he’s dizzy again, but for different reasons. The flavor of last night is returning to him slowly and he’s not sure that he can get it under control before they have to leave this room.

“Spencer,” he says wetly, looking at the huge eyes with the purple smudges under them and the crazy hair and the slightly perplexed expression... and just collapsing into all of that. He clears his throat to cover how exposed he feels. “I- I’m too old to be a hipster.” 

Reid laughs and it’s amazing. All sharp lines and inexpressible incandescence. It seems as though it’s been forever since he’s seen Reid laugh. Hotch grins back, still tired and blurred around the edges, but beginning to believe that maybe, _eventually_ they might be all right. Reid catches him staring and his laughter slows but the smile remains. _You’re a marvel_ , Hotch thinks.

“Hi,” Reid mumbles.

“Hello.” Hotch knocks their foreheads together and cups Reid’s jaw to hold him there. Then he closes his eyes and just _floats_.

“Are you having another crisis?” Reid asks eventually.

“Possibly, yes.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Not at all,” Hotch grins and then leans in for a foamy kiss even though the shaving cream tastes awful. Reid pushes into him with a squeak of delight and his hand curving up to grasp Hotch’s neck possessively. When they part, Reid’s other hand drifts over Hotch’s abdomen and the edge of the towel he’s wearing. Hotch glances down at the caress and sees the vague purple of bruising just above his hips - thin bands where he was gripped by the tentacles. A surge of heat and want thrums through him so quickly that he feels a little drunk with it.

“Spencer… about last night,” he croaks, inexplicably nervous. Reid stares him down carefully and waits, his features blurred because they’re close enough to be sharing each other’s breath. “There are no words. Even if there were, I’d probably be incapable of doing them justice.”

Reid sighs and closes his eyes, just leaning into Hotch’s forehead.

“It…” Hotch continues when it seems as if Reid won’t. “It feels like you saved my life last night.”

Reid’s eyes flick open at that. “I didn’t-”

Hotch places two fingers over his mouth to stop him. “You don’t know what’s it’s been like, how scared I’ve been.” He whispers the next part, still disturbed by how fragile it makes him feel. “I was actively coming apart and… and you dragged me back from the edge a little.”

“A little,” Reid whispers back as his grip on Hotch’s neck tightens. “That’s the part that concerns me.”

“I know.”

“You can’t get past this on your own.”

“I know.”

“You need to talk to someone about all of this. Today, if possible.”

“We’re in the middle of a case-”

“There’s always going to be another case, Aaron,” Reid’s tone hardens giving Hotch a preview of the kind of stubbornness he’s signed on for with this caretaker. “Perhaps you can’t start therapy right away but we can absolutely begin booking the sessions immediately.”

Hotch’s hands flash to the sides of Reid’s face and then bury themselves roughly in his hair. Reid twitches slightly but waits him out with a determined glare.

“Okay,” Hotch murmurs.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I agree. You’re right. I’m not fighting you on this.” Hotch strokes his fingers through Reid’s waves, partially for the simple tactile pleasure of it and also because it makes Reid sag into his hands as he does it. The quiet moan he gives Hotch tells him that he enjoys the simple pleasure of it too. “May I… may I talk to you about it until I find a therapist?” he asks shyly, and Reid’s head snaps up so quickly that they almost knock each other in the nose.

“What?”

“Well… you don’t have to if you’d prefer not to. I know it’s extremely disturbing, and some of it concerns you so… maybe it’s not appropriate. I just… I feel like…”

“You trust me,” Reid finishes breathlessly as his gaze gets huge.

“Yeah, I do.”

Reid swallows hard enough for Hotch to see it happen. “I’d like it if you told me about it.”

“Okay.” Hotch swallows hard too, nodding, and then a wave of anxiety wells up from out of nowhere and makes his pulse hammer in his throat until he almost chokes on it. He knocks his forehead back against Reid’s and sighs. “I’m struggling…”

“With what?”

“There’s… anxiety. More than I’m used to. And there are these _bursts_ of extreme emotion that I can’t control. I feel like my limbic system is punishing me for my years of stoicism.” He strokes a finger along Reid’s jaw and just stares at him for an instant. “I want to be with you so much, Spence… but now I’m wondering how _real_ this desperate need is. Is this just me falling in love, or is it trauma from the night terrors?”

“We’ll find out.” Reid grips his face. “Look at me, Aaron… _we’ll find out_ , okay?”

Then Reid suddenly pulls Hotch in and wraps his arms around him. Hotch’s hands fall across Reid’s back and he can feel the tentacles pulsing through his shirt and vest, trying to push their reassurance up and out into him. Hotch squeezes Reid until he gasps, burying his face in his neck.

“I know how I feel, Aaron,” Reid breathes against Hotch’s ear. “But I can wait. I’ll hold you every night for a thousand years if that’s what it takes. I’ll prove this love to you, and when the day comes where you _don’t_ feel anxious or confused or scared, I’ll still be here. It’ll just be us, uncomplicated, and it’ll be worth it. You’ll see.”

Hotch clamps his eyes shut and just holds onto Reid for dear life. _You are a goddamned marvel._ “Christ, please don’t let it take a thousand years…” he mumbles wetly and feels Reid chuckle in response. Hotch is surprised by the humor.

“It might take a while,” Reid murmurs and strokes Hotch’s back. “You’ve always been more anxious about us than I’d like. Ever since I told you about myself…”

“Spence, no-”

“It’s a big secret to keep, Aaron. I don’t blame you. But if you can get to a point where the danger of exposure _isn’t_ your primary concern, I think things will come to you more easily.” Reid sighs once, heavily into Hotch’s neck. “I’ve been living with this for decades. I sometimes forget how hard it was to come to terms with a life of secrecy.”

“I _love_ you,” Hotch growls and squeezes Reid closer, trying to deny the truth of what he’s saying. Hotch is a worrier.

“I know you do. But there’s an asterisk after that statement. I want us to work at erasing the asterisk.”

“What… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying… it may take some time. We have to be patient. But I have faith in us, faith in _you_ , Aaron. It won’t take a thousand years, I swear.”

“Okay,” Hotch chokes out and snuggles Reid as close as he can. He’s glad that Reid can’t see the worry that’s painted across his features. Reid has always seen him more clearly than others. Maybe he sees _this_ more accurately as well. Hotch will just have to have faith in Reid’s faith. It’s probably a good bet anyway.

“I have a theory,” Reid says after a minute of pointed, swaying silence in each other’s arms. “Wanna hear it?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Reid pulls back keeping him at arms length, serious despite the faint smudges of shaving foam on his cheek. 

“The hallucination, the night terrors - they aren’t really about any of us. The people you kill, I mean.”

Hotch just blinks for a moment, and then he submits to a new wave of exhaustion that hits him, and scrubs his face with his hand. Screw the shaving - he’ll have to try again afterwards.

“Lewis’s M.O. is to engage the victim’s worst fear, to make them live it out almost voluntarily,” Reid continues.

“Yes, and he did,” Hotch sighs. “I failed to protect my family. I took their trust and used it as a weapon against them-”

“No, Aaron, that’s where you’re wrong. If your worst fear was harming those you love, why isn’t Jack in the hallucination? Or Jessica or Sean or J.J.’s kids? Don’t you see? We were just convenient mental avatars - the ones that were closest to the surface of your short-term memory when the gas hit you.”

Hotch took that observation in with a deep scowl. “So, what’s my worst fear then, if it’s not killing the ones I love?”

Reid gives him a sad look that makes his body sag at the same time. “It’s becoming what you’ve spent your whole life fighting. You fear becoming a killer because you intimately understand what that feels like and it’s much closer to becoming a reality in you than it is for most people. Lewis’s other victims succumbed to it with far less pressure.”

Hotch staggers back a step out of Reid’s grip, and Reid lets him do it.

“But here’s another thing you missed, and Lewis missed it as well, so you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it,” Reid pauses thoughtfully. “The thing both of you failed to realize is that you’ve already faced down this possibility.”

“What do you mean?”

“George Foyet.”

Hotch blinks for a second and then shakes his head because he doesn’t understand the connection Reid’s making.

“Foyet wanted to turn you into him. That was his endgame and when he… when he killed Haley and then _waited_ for you, he fully expected that he’d achieve it.” Reid takes a deep breath in as Hotch sags against the bathroom counter. The memory of that day is still sharp and bright in his mind. Every swing he took, every dark speckle of blood…

“You killed him,” Reid says softly. “But there wasn’t an ounce of enjoyment in it for you, Aaron. You were appalled, broken, shattered by grief - we all saw it. And even though you ended him and he deserved it, you carry the guilt of what you did to this day. _That’s_ why killing us traumatizes you so much. Dyed-in-the-wool killers don’t feel guilt, we both know that.”

Reid reaches out and squeezes his hand around Hotch’s bicep to focus his eyes on him again. Hotch is slouching like a willow branch, needing the countertop’s sturdiness to keep him upright.

“If Foyet couldn’t turn you after everything he took, why do you think that Lewis could do any worse just by intoxicating you and whispering dirty things in your ear?”

Hotch lets out an inarticulate, mournful sound quickly before he can clamp a hand over his mouth to silence himself. He stares at Reid and his focus gets glassy as the analysis settles into the rational part of his mind and he tries to study it dispassionately. Haley and Foyet’s murders have always followed him around; they’ve colored every major decision he’s made, both personally and professionally, ever since. Hotch never wanted to see someone die as much as George Foyet, but Reid’s right: he’s never once enjoyed the memory of that outcome. And he’s never felt the urge to repeat it. In fact, deep down in him after all the years and cases, he still believes that _that_ isn’t his call to make.

“Lewis doesn’t understand you, Aaron,” Reid steps forward and gives him an unabashedly earnest look. “All he could induce you into doing was lapse into a catatonic state. He utterly failed with you.”

Hotch lurches towards Reid unsteadily and sags into his body when Reid catches him. The anxiety that’s been fueling him for weeks bursts in a messy way and he finds himself hitching into Reid’s shoulder as he buries his shame and tears in his shirt. Reid holds him tightly, whispers things that Hotch can’t really make out, and waits for him to ease, to calm, to drain himself. It takes a while; he’s been gripping Reid so hard that his arms start to ache a little from the strain. He sniffles monstrously, is embarrassed all over again, and then tries to quietly wipe his face before backing away.

“Sorry,” he huffs.

“For what?” Reid asks so gently it almost hurts to hear it. “Being human? You’re the toughest sonuvabitch I know, Aaron. Like I said, these dark bastards have broken other people with their tricks…”

Hotch smiles a little as he leans away and wipes his face again. “‘Son of a bitch’?”

Reid shrugs, his cheeks coloring slightly. “It felt appropriate to the moment. And you really are tough, you know.”

Hotch lets his smile fade and just stares at Reid for a while. “Thank you, Spencer. I think… I think this will help.”

“It’s a rational analysis based on the personalities involved. You would’ve seen it if our positions were reversed.”

“But it means something that it’s coming from you. It has weight because you know me, Spence. I _have_ to consider to it. I trust your insight when mine is compromised.”

Reid shuffles a little as if he’s embarrassed. Of all the things he could feel awkward about, Hotch will never understand why well-deserved praise is at the top of his list. Reid ends up flapping at hand in Hotch’s direction.

“C’mon, you’d better hustle. We have to be at the PD soon and I still need coffee.”

He’d managed all of this without coffee? Hotch’s eyebrows rise incredulously.

“And you need to start the shaving thing from scratch,” Reid gestures to what’s left of Hotch’s foam on his face, and all of the spots he missed. Then Hotch smirks and points at the remnants of the foam left on Reid.

“You’re to blame for that.” He feels cheeky and suddenly pulls his towel free and leans in to wipe the smears of cream away. Reid’s eyes widen comically as Hotch does it and doesn’t care if Reid sees he’s more than a little bit interested this morning. Hotch doesn’t really know where they go from here but he hopes that they can remain mutually _interested_ while they figure it out.

“I’m gonna…” Reid flaps around like a guppy, his face turning scarlet. “I’m gonna go and be… elsewhere while you, umm…” He can’t seem to look away from Hotch’s lips. It makes Hotch smirk. _Good to know we both find each other distracting…_

“Shave. The word you’re looking for is ‘shave’.”

“Yes, it is. Thanks.” Reid practically leaps for the bathroom doorway, and Hotch has to work hard not to chuckle. He turns back to the mirror and hears, “There’s no need to seem so pleased with yourself. I bet I can fluster you as well…” And then Hotch really does laugh out loud.

He sags against the counter again and pours a new dollop of shaving foam into his palm, taking in his harried expression and his crazy cowlicks. He sighs as the fatigue rears forward again, quieting his lust and setting his mind whirring once more. 

“It’ll take time,” he murmurs and then brushes the cream over his face.

It _will_ take time, and work, but he feels a delicate, magic thread of hope weaving through his tension and fear. That hope hadn’t existed twelve hours ago. He huffs as he wipes the razor quickly over one cheek and thinks _there are worse ways to start the day_. He’d certainly had worse in recent memory.

Fifteen minutes later he’s shrugging into his suit jacket looking and feeling a lot more like the man everyone expects him to be. He collects the files he needs, pockets his wallet and badge, holsters his weapon, and then looks up to find Reid staring at him curiously from the hotel doorway.

“What?” He feels his traditional scowl settle into place, and Reid’s expression inexplicably softens when it happens.

“Nothing. C’mon. You’re buying this morning,” he says instead of explaining himself.

“Oh, really?” Hotch grumbles as he locks up and walks a step behind Reid staring at the skin just above his shirt collar as they head for the elevator. “How are you going to make _that_ happen?”

Reid continues walking with his head down focused on a pile of papers he’s quickly scanning. He stops at the elevator bank and pokes the down button without looking away from his reading. Hotch shrugs it off and figures _‘work mode’_ , trying to do the same as he waits for the elevator.

“There’s a common belief that ‘aardvark’ is the first entry in most standard dictionaries,” Reid begins suddenly without looking up. Hotch twists to stare at him and feels heat snake through his limbs instantly. _Oh, that’s not fair…_

“But actually and unsurprisingly the first entry in every dictionary is the letter ‘a’, which is universally believed to have over thirty unique grammatical purposes. Most of them are archaic or unknown to the general population, but it makes for an impressive first entry.”

The elevator politely dings and the doors slide open. Reid saunters in innocently and then peers up at Hotch with an angelic smile when he sees the discomfiting effect he’s having.

“You’re buying coffee,” he says quietly. Hotch stumbles into the elevator and swallows, staring up at the numbers over the door.

“Fine,” he grunts hoarsely. “Now behave yourself.”

He thinks he hears Reid chuckle as he leans to press the lobby button when it becomes obvious Hotch can’t move. The doors close and Hotch’s stomach lurches as the elevator descends. They are halfway to ground level when Reid starts up again.

“The second entry is ‘aa’, which is an obsolete noun signifying ‘a stream or watercourse’. It hasn’t been actively used in English since the early fifteenth century, which makes its continued inclusion in modern reference guides truly fascin-”

Hotch grabs Reid by the jaw and draws him in for a hungry kiss. He hears Reid moan softly, crushing his papers to his chest as Hotch roams and isn’t at all polite about it. The elevator hops as it reaches its destination and then the floor chimes as Hotch quickly pulls away and tries to tamp down on the extremely unprofessional interest he is showing at the moment.

“I said _behave_ ,” he growls an instant before the doors open to the hotel lobby.

Reid smiles, cheeks rosy and lips flusher than they should be. “Yes, Boss. Good to have you back.”

Hotch swells for a moment with happiness, purpose, and then watches Reid bounce out of the elevator like it’s any other day. Hotch follows, again a step behind because it seems that’s how they work now, but close enough that he can brush Reid’s back without being obvious with it. He feels the tentacles push back at him on a brief pass and he allows himself to smile. Then they stride out into the daylight in search of caffeine together.


End file.
